To Keep the Sky
by TriasTheBetrayer
Summary: There are really only two kinds of people in the world - people who are looking for something, and people who are dead. RWBY AU
1. Chapter 1

_Before the light there was Darkness, and it lay quiet and unchanging._

 _Then came the six bright lights - the Beacons, who burnt with overflowing light. They warred among themselves, each struggling to outshine the other. But for all their power, not even the First, most powerful of them, could light the Dark._

 _The Last, whose light was dimmest and weakest, saw this. It came to the First and said that they should shine together._

 _This pleased the First._

...

The application mocked him with its blank surface.

Jaune dropped his pen in disgust. He opened his scroll and flipped to the news.

 **Aeliana Arc versus Pyrrha Nikos**

The article was really about the entire Mistral Regionals, but it seemed like the only thing people could talk about was the final match. Even the video was basically just a highlight reel with commentary about the event. Looking at it made him feel…

A sigh found its way past his lips. He was happy for his sister, but she was just sixteen! Barely a few years older than him and she was already in the news.

That made it a hundred percent, so far. Seven famous Hunters out of seven.

And then there was him.

"Everything alright, Jauney?" his mother asked, having appeared out of nowhere like magic. He would have freaked out if he had not long since given up on being surprised by his family's ability to sneak up on him. They did it mostly on accident anyways.

"It's nothing, mom. I was just wondering if you could-" The sight of his mother's outfit stopped him mid thought - the lance and rocket launcher hybrid that she carried around had that effect sometimes. "Oh, I… I didn't know you had a mission."

"Yes. Sorry for not telling you, I honestly forgot about it," she said, smiling apologetically. "It's only a small one though. I'll be back by the weekend. Are you sure it was nothing?"

Jaune looked back down at the Signal application he had wanted help with. Aeliana was going to Sanctum, but she would be graduating soon enough that there was not much point to signing up for it. It was probably better that way, anyways. The idea of leaving his home so far behind left him a little queasy. "Yeah, I'll be fine, I guess. But, uh, good luck?"

"I don't need luck, I'm an Arc." his mother quipped. "But thanks anyways."

Jaune sat and watched her leave.

He looked back down at the application, every field empty save the first.

"I am so screwed." he mumbled, head crashing onto the table.

Combat school was an important step towards becoming a Hunter - it was the equivalent to a highschool degree, but in kicking ass. More than that, Jaune _wanted_ to go. The only problem was that he was being overwhelmed by a sheet of paper. He knew the application did not really matter, not for him at least. He had already written the only important answer - Jaune Arc - even if really only one of those words mattered.

He just… felt a little bad about it.

Arc was more than just a last name, after all.

It was a badge of honor. The name Arc had a history to it, a legacy. Names could be odd like that - nothing but a handful of alphabet soup, decided before you can even speak, and they could set the course of your whole life. The name Arc had expectations.

Arcs were heroes. They were, to a man, Hunters, and had been since Marius Arc held the Brenner mountain breach against a horde of Grimm. It might not have been anywhere near as famous a name as Ironwood or Ozpin, but if you cracked open a history book chances were it would mention an Arc.

Jaune knew this. He had grown up on stories of his ancestors, just like his seven sisters had. He had had front row seats to watch as his sisters became respected Hunters. Maybe it was because of that, but becoming a Hunter had been his dream since pretty much forever. He could remember how excited he was to receive Crocea Mors for his tenth birthday, even if he could hardly hold it at the time.

"Some day," his father had told him, one too large, too hot hand resting on his small shoulder, the other wrapped around the sword's hilt. "You'll make your own weapon, like the rest of us. Until then, you'll have Crocea."

The sheen of the metal, the way it wore its age with quiet dignity. The sword was an heirloom - old by any standards, and obsolete by some - but to him it had felt sacred. Maybe it still did, in the little ways. It had a certain weight to it, a kind of inevitability. Crocea Mors was without doubt the greatest gift he had ever gotten, and his family had wanted him to train with it. He had and he still did, but when he compared himself to his sisters - his seven sisters who were all skilled and powerful and had no problems holding onto their own weapons - it was a little intimidating.

Who had ever heard of a clumsy Arc?

...

"I'm getting worried about you, Jaune," Vert drawled as he knocked the textbook to the floor. "You keep dropping things."

The two boys standing behind Vert started to snicker.

Jaune stooped over, partly to pick the book back up but also to hide his burning cheeks. He was already being embarrassed in front of a full hallway, and the older boy did not need anything more to tease him about. At least the book was fine. Boring as science was, it would be a pain to replace it.

Not that it would have been expensive, or something like that. No, his family probably an order of magnitude more whenever they ate together - one of the many occupational hazards of feeding nine Hunters. The school might not even make them pay for it, with how important the Arcs were to the town. It was not the vineyard that was keeping Tiber from turning into a ghost town, no matter how important booze was.

Remnant was harsh, and especially so to buildings.

The difference between a city and a village was measured in decades, not lives, and there were precious few cities. Tiber was still around, even though its Dust had long since been mined and its soil was poor, because the Arcs ancestral home was there.

Replacing the textbook would be a pain because then his parents would know about Vert - would know that he could not deal with a heavyset fourteen year old.

Jaune frowned at the thought. His knuckles whitened as he clutched the book. How could he dream of fighting the Grimm when a kid barely older than himself scared him?

"If you do that again, I'm going to- to," Jaune stammered as Vert took a step closer. His mouth was unusually dry. " Uh, I'll..."

"You'll what?" Vert wondered aloud, schadenfreude dripping from his voice like grease out of cheap meat. "Make a fool of yourself?"

Someone in the crowd laughed, and Jaune definitely did not bite back tears. His face was flaming red, but the embarrassment - and the fear - were swallowed by a swelling anger. He grit his teeth and threw himself forwards, throwing his weight like he had been taught.

His shoulder rammed into Vert and sent the bully stumbling backwards, surprised at the force behind it.

"How are _you_ an Arc?" Vert questioned, the grin on his face draining away. "Why a wimp like you?"

"What?" Jaune asked, the red clearing from his thoughts just in time for the punch.

...

Jaune woke to a familiar ceiling and an aching jaw.

His room was the same as it had always been, muted blue like an early winter morning and more space than he knew what to do with. Posters were plastered haphazardly across the walls, almost all of them of his sisters - they had gotten into some contest about who could give him the worst one years ago. He appreciated it, although he would never say that where they could hear them. Besides, the person standing in his room seemed to be enjoying them well enough for the both of them.

"Vera!" Jaune said, shifting to get a better view. "When did you get home?"

"Couple hours ago, you know how these things go," his sister said, reaching out to muss his hair. "Figured I'd drop by and see my favorite lil' bro. Except then I find out he just got his ass kicked." Vera's gaze drifted to the angry splotch of swollen purple on her brother's cheek. Her eyes narrowed with something dangerously close to anger.

"Yeah," Jaune winced, unsure of what to say. "At least I got the first hit in?"

"I don't think shoving someone with your shoulder really counts," she snorted. "Not unless you're still in preschool. I thought we taught you better than that?"

Jaune looked down ashamedly. "Yeah," he whispered, fists balling. "You did."

Her fingers touched his bruised jaw like whispers. "Y'know, he got you pretty good." Vera said, the corner of her lips tweaking upwards. Jaune gulped. That look tended to be followed by mischief. "We'd been saving it for a graduation gift… but why not?

Vera's Aura snapped into existence, bright enough to make him squint and completely out of place, like someone had gotten bored and decided liven up reality with a few splashes of paint. It was the same as it always had been - something flickering between grey and burnt orange, like fire, smoke and ash all rolled into one. She looked like she was wearing a bonfire as a cloak. It spilled down her hand and into him, and for a moment he was blind and choking.

Then his own Aura surged forwards.

It ripped its way past his skin and body, the power of his soul spilling out into a shining corona surrounding him. The light of his very soul shone around him, shifting subtly like a serene lake of brilliant white gold. It raced through his body, liquid warmth rushing across him.

What.

He stared down at his hands, even as his Aura died down and the light sunk back into his flesh.

What.

Vera took a single look at his face and laughed.

"People are supposed to give a little speech or something, but… Well, it ain't like someone can really tell _us_ what Aura means anyways. " A distant look passed over Vera's face. "You're just as passive as last time though, huh?"

"What?" Jaune asked, confused

"Don't worry about it," She clapped him on the arm. "Just rest up, you'll heal up real quick. Oh and don't worry about that dumb kid. Big sis is going to... chat with him."

Jaune sat and watched her leave.

...

Bullhead tickets were surprisingly easy to buy.

He supposed they had to be, given that they were one of the few ways to get anywhere, really, but Jaune had figured there would be a little more tension to it. He had expected…

Actually, he had no clue what he had expected. Questions, maybe? For someone to stop him, or recognize him and make a call, or something! All that ticket seller did was glance at Crocea Mors and take his lien.

Jaune looked out the window. The ancestral blade lay in his lap, sheathed but close enough for him to draw at any moment. He knew he would not need it but its presence was reassuring, even if it made him feel a little guilty. It felt a little like stealing - Crocea Mors had been a family heirloom before it was his.

Jaune imagined that he could feel the roughly folded sheet of paper in his pocket as he shifted uncomfortably in his seat, waiting for the bullhead to rise. It felt like a cruel joke. Signal was one of the most prestigious combat academies in the kingdom of Vale. His application was just as blank as it had been that morning. After all, what was he going to write on it, that he needed his sister to beat up his problems?

It did not matter what he wrote, and that was the problem. They would have seen the name Arc and nothing else would have mattered.

Jaune sighed and rested a hand on his sword. He did not want to be some privileged child, who had to rely on his family. He wanted - no, he _needed_ \- to be able to stand on his own two feet. Maybe leaving was not the way to do that, but then what was?

He had not waited for his sister to return from her 'chat', just left a note explaining himself and purchased a ticket for the first ride out of Tiber. His sisters would probably freak out about it, but they would understand eventually.

The engines rumbled and the world outside the window lurched away.

AN: Hey all, thanks for reading. This is my first story on FFN, and I understand that I'm not exactly a stellar writer. If you have comments or criticisms, I'd love to hear them!


	2. Chapter 2

Bullheads were - in Jaune's strictly professional opinion - terrifying deathtraps.

Which was not to say he did not use them. Transport between settlements was dangerous as a rule of thumb, and it only got worse the further one got from the larger cities. It was too hard to protect every route at all times from every Grimm, and all it really took was a couple beowolves slipping through the cracks. Bullheads, at least, were safe from land-based Grimm and had defenses that could be used to drive off those that could fly.

Jaune threw himself to the ground, desperately grateful for its presence. Between his fear of flying and his motion sickness, the ride had not been very pleasant. He had ridden bullheads before, of course, but normally he took medicine and tried to sleep through the trip. In his rush to leave, he had forgotten the medicine, and he had been too worried to even think of sleep.

"Heh," someone said. "You look like you're having about as bad a time as I am, kid."

Jaune surreptitiously wiped vomit from the corner of his mouth before he looked up.

It was an old man, although Jaune would not have called him that aloud. The wear and tear of age lay heavy upon the man, his face obviously wrinkled and his hair a greyish white, but he stood straight and tall.

Jaune stood, feeling a little embarrassed at being caught doing something so childish."It's just motion sickness," he protested half-heartedly, turning towards the city. "Thanks for the concern, though."

The airport was on the outskirts of town - and it was certainly large enough to be called an airport, as opposed to the glorified field that Tiber had - and it did not make for a great view. He scanned the buildings and put on his confidant face to try and hide the fact he had no clue where he was going.

" _Just_ motion sickness?" the white-haired man asked, a little too observant. "Because it kind of looks like you've got no idea where you're going." Jaune shifted uncomfortably. He needed to work on his confidant face. "Look, you a Hunter in training or a runaway?"

Jaune's head snapped towards the man. "Uh," he stalled. "Hunter! I mean- Of course I'm a Hunter!"

The white-haired man looked him over. "Runaway it is," the man mumbled to himself. "You got Aura, kid?" Jaune let the pale-gold glow of one hand answer for him. "Right, that's good. _If_ \- and this is purely hypothetical, yeah? - If you were a runaway who happened to be able to fight, then I'm sure one of the caravaneers unloading here might need another guard."

The old man must have read the surprise on his face. "Yeah, yeah, I'm not just some crotchety old man. Now get out of here, kid."

Tiber suffered due to its distance from Vale. Like many settlements, Tiber needed most goods to be imported, which left it a rather… limited spread. Everything from Dust to clothes to junk food had to shipped in by bullhead, which meant that stores could have the same things in stock for months.

This stagnancy was why caravans, small groups of merchants that braved the wilderness and Grimm, were so widely welcomed. They often had rarer or more exotic pieces than local stores, and sometimes they sold specialty goods too niche for smaller towns to even cater to. His sisters had always been excited when a tinker - or a sweets merchant - came by.

Caravans mostly just trickled into towns in groups of three or four, and while their schedule tended to be irregular news of their arrival always spread quickly. Aeliana had always raced out of school to try and talk with some of the guards, and he had often ended up dragged along. The caravan guards, who were intimidating by virtue of their size and weapons, often brushed them off, but his sister had always been stubborn. Not all of them were friendly, but some of the guards had been travelling for years and would sneak goodies for them.

Once, they had gotten a leftover cake and the two of them had snuck away with it. They devoured it all in an hour, and it had left him feeling bloated and almost sick. The memory of it - spending an afternoon hiding with his sister by the edge of town, hands smudged with frosting and stomach stuffed full of sugar - was worth it.

Still, it did not look like he was going to get any free food here, much less a job.

"No," the chubby woman huffed, "I don't need a child. Aura or not, I've already hired enough guards."

Jaune was on his way out when he saw the old man loading crates into the back of a vehicle. They seemed pretty heavy - the old man's arms shook and his breathing was laboured. He almost just left, but something held him back. The old man had helped him, after all, even if he had not been the most polite about it.

Before he - or the old man - could talk himself out of it, he leaned over and picked one of the crates up. It was as heavy as it looked - all thick wooden planks and filled to the brim. Jaune was no stranger to carrying heavy weights, since he had spent years learning to carry and wield Crocea Mors. Even then, the crates would have been far too heavy for him even just a few days ago. But now, with his Aura bolstering him?

The white-haired man stopped and caught his breath as Jaune started loading crates. "Kid? What are you doing here?"

"Saying thanks," Jaune answered between crates.

"I'm not usually one to say no to free labor, but shouldn't you be looking for a job right now? What if you miss a ride to where you're going?"

"Where I'm going?" Jaune repeated. "I've got no clue where I'm going."

The old man said nothing.

"Besides," Jaune continued, "If they don't want me along, it's their loss." He turned to find the old man offering a handshake.

"Gelb Tschuss," the white haired man introduced himself, "If you're still lookin' for a caravan, I suppose I've got an extra spot for you."

"I'm Jaune," he shook the hand, "and thanks."


End file.
